it hit hard
not a pour
not a pull
just the scent
warm and familiar
like old breath
on the edge of blackout
I counted my days
then I counted the distance
and found there wasn’t any
just an ache
just the heat
and that same hunger curled up
right where I left it
it poured thru my head
like it knew the way
slick
slow
smilin
no struggle
just the sound of an openin door
my mouth remembered
my hands remembered
even my fuckin breath
leaned toward it
like maybe I could live
just one more time
inside the burn
I kept my hands steady
but I’m not clean
not right now
I’m soaked in the want
fuckin drenched in it
drownin in the potential quiet
and a thirst that won’t loosen
it’s not screamin
it’s not fightin
just sittin right there
tail waggin
eyes locked
welcomin me back
like a goddamn dog
who never stopped
waitin for me at the door
Powerfully penned, Ambjr. I can relate believe me, those moments completely suck. It can feel like a dog staring and studying you. Great write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
definitely. bein round it doesn’t usually get me. but got hit with it after a smell other day. thanks
Addictions do that, beckon and welcome. It’s the nature of the beast, described perfectly.
Excellent ink.
definitely the nature of the beast. thanks